Have You Lied Enough? - Chapter 20

Fu Wansi drank himself into oblivion that night. After Cheng Bo passed out, Fu Wanchu called over a few friends from the neighborhood, and the group heckled Fu Wansi and Zuo Chi, urging them to drink.

Fu Wansi couldn’t let Zuo Chi shoulder all the drinking, and he lost count of how much he ended up consuming himself. Zuo Chi couldn’t escape either. Once he sat down, he drank like a madman, even more shamelessly than Fu Wansi. His expression remained unchanged no matter how much he drank, making him an even easier target for the others to pressure.

By the time they left the private room after midnight, Fu Wansi could barely walk in a straight line. His mind wasn’t his own, his reactions sluggish by several beats.

Fu Wanchu asked the manager of Yitu to take Cheng Bo to the office to sleep. She and Fu Wansi led their respective groups out, and at the entrance, she yawned and asked him, “I’m heading home. My driver will pick me up. How are you getting home?”

She glanced at Zuo Chi, who stood behind her brother, his chin resting on Fu Wansi’s shoulder, an arm around his waist, looking utterly exhausted.

How clingy. Are they dating now?

It took Fu Wansi a few seconds to respond, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. “I’ll call a rideshare. Call me when you get home.”

“What about him?” Fu Wanchu raised an eyebrow. “Are you taking him home?”

Fu Wansi sucked in a breath, feeling a twinge in his stomach. He patted Zuo Chi’s forehead, who had been leaning against him the whole ride, to keep him awake. “What else? Throw him on the street?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. With how handsome he is, it’d be a waste if someone else found him. He suits you best.”

Fu Wansi told her to get lost.

The rideshare driver was an employee of Yitu, a young man not much older than Zuo Chi.

After dropping them off, Fu Wansi transferred money to the driver to cover his taxi fare home, keeping the change for himself.

The moment he stepped out of the car, Fu Wansi felt unsteady on his feet. Surprisingly, Zuo Chi, who had been slumped against him the entire ride, now straightened up. He took hold of Fu Wansi’s arm with one hand and supported his waist with the other, leading him inside.

Fu Wansi, irritated by Zuo Chi’s grip, frowned and snapped, “Let go. I’m not crippled.”

Zuo Chi released him and tilted his head, asking with genuine curiosity, “Uncle, why isn’t your speech slurred even though you’re drunk? Is it because your tongue is small?”

“Is babbling nonsense a habit of yours?” Fu Wansi pressed his fingers against his temples, the ache in his stomach growing worse. He quickened his pace.

Despite being scolded, Zuo Chi didn’t get upset. He followed behind, occasionally poking Fu Wansi’s waist. When Fu Wansi finally turned around slowly to reprimand him, Zuo Chi would grin widely and raise his hands in surrender. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy this game.

The key wouldn’t fit, even after four attempts. Fu Wansi suppressed his frustration, his eyes narrowing as he realized the keyhole had five holes, and he’d tried four of them, all in vain.

Zuo Chi stood nearby, barely suppressing a laugh. He’d drunk even more than Fu Wansi, but alcohol had no effect on him.

Just as Fu Wansi was about to lose his temper and slam the door shut, Zuo Chi grabbed his hand, took the key, and unlocked the door for him.

Fu Wansi stepped inside, changed his shoes without acknowledging Zuo Chi, and went straight to the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and stood before the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach completely.

His stomach burned with acid, his throat searing with pain.

Soaked in the smell of alcohol, he irritably stripped off his clothes, turned on the shower, and rinsed himself twice from head to toe. Only when the hot water had reddened his skin slightly did he feel a slight relief, the alcohol’s effects finally beginning to fade.

After roughly drying his hair, Fu Wansi wrapped a towel around his waist and pulled open the bathroom door.

He had barely taken two steps when a whistling sound echoed from behind.

It took Fu Wansi a moment to process the sound before he turned around.

Zuo Chi stood to his right, his gaze openly roaming over the skin left exposed by the towel. If looks could be physical, his eyes would have already licked Fu Wansi eight times.

Their eyes met. Zuo Chi boldly reached out and groped Fu Wansi’s waist, then lowered his gaze and said, “Uncle, you have abs. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Fu Wansi slapped his hand away. Zuo Chi’s hand was warm, leaving a lingering sensation on his skin. The post-drinking touch made Fu Wansi feel slightly tipsy.

He walked to the refrigerator, grabbed a bottle of cold water, twisted it open, and took a sip before saying, “Is your dream to become a journalist?”

To go around interviewing people everywhere.

Zuo Chi laughed so hard his shoulders shook, his gaze lingering on Fu Wansi’s bare back. His eyes darkened as he obediently said, “Uncle, I also need to take a shower. I don’t have any clothes.”

“Look through the wardrobe yourself. Fold them up after you’re done.” Fu Wansi was dizzy from the alcohol and starving, but he didn’t have the energy to cook. Frowning, he said, “I’m going to sleep. Keep it quiet.”

Zuo Chi followed him step by step into the master bedroom. Fu Wansi tried to close the door, but Zuo Chi blocked it, saying, “You haven’t dried your hair.”

“I’m tired,” Fu Wansi replied.

“You haven’t eaten yet,” Zuo Chi added.

Fu Wansi closed his eyes, barely restraining himself from kicking Zuo Chi out. He repeated, “I’m tired. Go take a shower and sleep by yourself when you’re done.”

Zuo Chi stared at Fu Wansi for a while, lost in thought. Suddenly, he sighed with a wry smile and gently poked Fu Wansi’s hand. “Uncle, you’re nothing like I imagined.”

Fu Wansi, not understanding and too tired to decipher what he meant, dismissed it as drunken rambling and shut the door in his face.

Zuo Chi scratched at the door, and Fu Wansi’s voice came from inside.

“Scratch that door again, and I’ll chop your hand off.”

Zuo Chi withdrew his hand, pressing his forehead against the door, and sighed again.

The woman had taken back her idiot. Though her words were harsh, she cared for him meticulously, cherishing him with tender affection—a picture of happiness and sweetness.

Fu Wansi had taken him in, and he’d moved into Fu Wansi’s home. But instead of being cared for, he quickly realized that if he didn’t work hard to look after Fu Wansi, his “beloved uncle” might one day overwork himself to death.

What a scam…

Zuo Chi, blissfully unaware, was convinced that Fu Wansi had deceived him. The man he’d written about was nothing like the real person.

But since he was already here, what could he do? He could only observe whether Fu Wansi would change after falling for him.

If he couldn’t succeed, he’d just have to fight back. Being with Fu Wansi was truly a great injustice; he was constantly being scolded.

After bathing, Zuo Chi emerged naked and found a slightly larger set of pajamas in the wardrobe to put on.

The shirt was a bit tight, so he shrugged it off. The pants were a little short, but he made do. There were no suitable underwear, so he went without.

Zuo Chi knocked on the master bedroom door with the hairdryer, not waiting for permission. He inserted the wire into the keyhole and twisted twice, and the door swung open.

“Get out,” Fu Wansi grumbled from the bed, his voice thick with sleep and irritation.

“System error. Initiating automatic mode~” Zuo Chi walked to the bedside, bent down to plug in the hairdryer, and with his other hand, hauled Fu Wansi’s shoulders onto his lap. He set the hairdryer to the lowest setting and hummed quietly, “Woo woo woo woo~”

Fu Wansi could always maintain some semblance of composure while out, even when utterly drunk, ensuring he could stagger home. Once home, he could vomit or faint as much as he liked; his dignity was paramount in public.

Now that he was home, even lying in bed, that last shred of self-control had completely snapped. Drunk and exhausted, his vision swam as if the world was spinning. Zuo Chi could have easily kicked him across the room, let alone moved him; any sudden movement would likely send him flying off the bed.

Zuo Chi gently brushed Fu Wansi’s hair, occasionally pressing down with his fingertips and massaging his scalp with practiced strokes. Fu Wansi’s hair was soft and jet-black, a stark contrast to his dark, underworldly lifestyle, yet it looked remarkably healthy.

Humming cheerfully, Zuo Chi announced, “Uncle, I ordered takeout.”

Fu Wansi ignored him. The warm, gentle breeze from the hairdryer and Zuo Chi’s light touch were so soothing that he was about to fall asleep.

Seeing through Fu Wansi’s drowsiness, Zuo Chi brazenly pinched his ear and threatened in a half-joking, half-serious tone, “No sleeping until you finish eating! If you dare close your eyes, I’ll give you a wake-up call.”

Fu Wansi slapped his hand away. Zuo Chi clicked his tongue, grinned, then grabbed Fu Wansi’s hand and suddenly lowered his head, biting down hard and shoving it deep into his throat.

The bite was vicious enough to make Zuo Chi retch. Fu Wansi’s eyes snapped open, and he yanked his hand back, the tips of his fingers wet.

“You’re insane!”

Zuo Chi licked his lips. His throat felt raw and sore, but he continued drying Fu Wansi’s hair as if nothing had happened, a smirk playing on his lips. “Not quite,” he replied. “Just half-crazy.”

The unspoken implication hung in the air: if he were fully insane, it wouldn’t have been a hand he’d bitten.

The takeout arrived. Zuo Chi grabbed the food and saw Fu Wansi sitting on the sofa, looking disgruntled as he waited, already in his pajamas. The pleasant scene was ruined.

The alcohol had completely worn off thanks to Zuo Chi’s antics, and Fu Wansi’s tone was curt. “Enjoying the view?”

“Mm-hmm!” Zuo Chi walked over, unwrapping the food one item at a time, and sang in a high-pitched voice, “What a lovely view! Even better without clothes, na-na-na~”

Fu Wansi stuffed a sweet bun into his mouth. “Shut up, brat,” he muttered, his headache worsening from the incessant “na-na-na.”

Zuo Chi bit into the sweet bun and sat beside him, muffled words escaping his mouth. “Yum, sweet.”

“Cut down on sweets. They lower children’s IQs,” Fu Wansi snapped, his mood sour from interrupted sleep, morning grumpiness, and a stomachache. His words dripped with venom.

Zuo Chi stared blankly for a moment before leaning in earnestly and whispering, “Will my love for sweets affect me? Uncle, will it?”

Fu Wansi glanced at him and turned to take a sip of hot milk. “Yes.”

Zuo Chi wrinkled his nose, unconvinced. “I’m a smart kid,” he insisted.

“You’re not,” Fu Wansi retorted.

“I am!” Zuo Chi tugged at his arm. “I am!”

When Fu Wansi ignored him, Zuo Chi placed the half-eaten bun back into the takeout box, swallowed hard, and scooted to the far end of the sofa. He curled up in a tight ball and froze.

Fu Wansi ate a little more before noticing Zuo Chi had stopped eating. He was holding a carton of milk, ready to drink, and asked, “Not hungry anymore?”

Zuo Chi picked at his fingers, frowning, anxiety etched in his eyes. He avoided looking at the table as he muttered, “Only smart kids get to eat.”

“What?” Fu Wansi thought Zuo Chi was having another one of his episodes, but the expression on Zuo Chi’s face made it clear this was exactly what he believed, regardless of his mental state.

“I’m not smart, so I can’t eat your food…” Zuo Chi kept his head down, digging his nails into the back of his hand until he drew blood. His voice was barely audible, tinged with frustration. “I’ll leave soon. I just want to stay with you a little longer.”

Fu Wansi rarely bothered to scrutinize people, but now he found himself studying Zuo Chi intently.

He watched Zuo Chi for a few seconds, suddenly seeing the boy as a child being punished with a time-out. The parents declared the reason, and the child had no room to question right or wrong; they could only stand and suffer.

This realization stirred unpleasant memories in Fu Wansi.

He pushed the sweet bun toward Zuo Chi. Though his tone remained harsh, his voice softened. “Nonsense. Get over here and eat.”

Zuo Chi didn’t move, snapping, “Uncle, you only know how to yell at me.”

He didn’t blame the person who had instilled this habit in Zuo Chi, but now he was taking it out on Fu Wansi.

Fu Wansi’s grip tightened around the milk cup as he felt his emotions boiling. He took a deep breath, grabbed Zuo Chi’s wrist, and yanked him closer.

Pressing the milk cup to Zuo Chi’s lips, Fu Wansi forcefully twisted Zuo Chi’s face toward him with brutal simplicity.

“Drink it,” he said. “I don’t care where you got the idea that stupid people don’t get food. Here, even if you’re a complete idiot, you still get to eat. Got it?”

Zuo Chi was bewildered as he was fed a mouthful of milk. He hissed, “Tsk.” It was unsweetened and tasted bad.

Fu Wansi misunderstood, thinking Zuo Chi was refusing.

He didn’t coddle him, ordering Zuo Chi to sit down and eat properly. Glaring down at him, he threatened, “Waste any food and I’ll throw you out the window to free fall.”

This was the twelfth floor. Zuo Chi blinked. His uncle was truly ruthless.

His words were truly ruthless.

But only his words were ruthless.

Zuo Chi picked up the uneaten sweet bun, glanced at Fu Wansi, and when he didn’t react, took a small bite. He glanced at Fu Wansi again, but Fu Wansi remained silent.

Zuo Chi took a small bite of the bun, then stared at Fu Wansi like a thief, making him feel intensely uncomfortable. Fu Wansi snapped, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Zuo Chi replied, sipping his milk. He smiled. “I’m just afraid you’ll hit me.”

Fu Wansi drank some hangover soup, wondering if he was still drunk and couldn’t process what Zuo Chi was saying. “Why would I hit you?”

“My mom was like this,” Zuo Chi said, pointing to his mouth. “She’d tell me to eat, and if I actually did, she’d hit me.”

That’s because she was a drug-addled idiot, Fu Wansi thought to himself.

Support Have You Lied Enough?